


Four Minutes

by BinJLG



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Neighbor!Tom, Romance, au!tom, professor!tom, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1490782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BinJLG/pseuds/BinJLG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom arrives home from abroad and discovers he has a new neighbor in a rather interesting way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Minutes

**Four Minutes **

Tom tapped his foot in the back of the cab anxiously. He was so tired and jet lagged, he wasn't even going to bother unpacking when he got home. He was just going to kick off his shoes and crawl into bed. He might even skip the shoes. It was going to feel so good to finally sleep in his own bed again.

"You been away from home long?" the cabbie asked, jolting Tom from his thoughts of home and bed.

"S-Sorry?"

"You can't fool me. I know that look. You've been away from home for a while and you're thinking of getting home and having a nice cup of tea, aren't you?"

Tom arched an eyebrow in amusement and yawned, nodding his head. "Something like that."

10 agonizingly long minutes of idle chitchat with the driver later, the car pulled up to the curb in front of Tom's town house. After paying the cab fare and getting his luggage up to the door, Tom finally slipped his key in the lock and stepped into his house for the first time in months. He inhaled deeply, noting the false citrusy tang in the air that denoted recent cleaning. He brought his bags into the hallway and hung his keys on his hook before stepping into his living room.

The afternoon sun poured in through the bay windows, giving the sheets which covered his sofas and chairs a stark contrast to his dark ash furniture. He made his way into the kitchen and briefly glanced through his stack of mail before heading up to his bedroom. He opened the windows enough to let the gentle afternoon breeze waft through and plugged his phone and laptop in.

Tom collapsed onto his bed with a grateful sigh, inhaling deeply. Almost nothing topped the smell of fresh linens for him, and he made a mental note to call his sister later and thank her for taking care of the house while he was gone. He toed off his shoes and climbed under the covers, not caring if it was a warm day in late May. There was just no way he could come all this way and not crawl under the covers.

Tom rolled over lazily, facing the windows, and opening his eyes sleepily for a moment, but he didn't shut them again. He stared confused out his window as he watched a young woman edge her way across the roof of his sun room.

'What on earth?' Tom thought to himself, still groggy. His body was crying out for sleep, but he was so curious about what was happening just above his back garden that he couldn't fall asleep just yet.

"Psst! Chester! C'mhere Chester!"

Tom watched, eyes half-lidded, as she reached for the tree close to his house. He watched her carefully, ready to spring up and call for an ambulance in case she missed the tree and fell. It wasn't _that_ high up, but if she fell the wrong way, she could still seriously hurt herself. He craned his neck and could see a large orange house cat with icy blue eyes staring out at him from near the trunk of the tree. It looked quite content, actually, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder why this woman was risking maybe not life, but certainly limb for a cat that didn't seem to want or need any help.

A great creaking and rustling brought Tom's attention back to the girl, who was now dangling from the branch by her hands and trying to pull herself up.

'Oh God, I can't watch,' thought Tom, waiting for the sound of her hitting the ground. To his surprise, though, she managed to pull herself up. Awkwardly, and with a bit a swearing, but she did it. She swung her leg over the branch so she was straddling it, facing the tree and began inching closer to the cat, talking in a sweet, high voice the entire time; the kind of voice people only reserve for animals and very small children.

"Now come to mama, Chester. That's a good boy. We wouldn't want to fall and get hurt, so just come here, and we'll get down nice and slow and easy."

At this point, she managed to get to the cat, had him in her arms, and was working on turning around. Chester, though, had other plans. He managed to wriggle free and started making his way down the branch towards Tom's roof.

"God dammit Chester!"

She managed to get herself turned around and Tom quickly shut his eyes. This girl may have been trespassing, but it was far creepier of him to have been watching her this entire time without saying anything.

Tom heard the cat jump up onto his window sill and then-

"Gotchya!"

Silence followed for a good long while, and by the time Tom opened his eyes again, it was night. He didn't know when it happened, but he passed out after he shut his eyes. Tom stretched and reached over for his phone on the night stand. 8:57? That couldn't be right. He reluctantly hoisted himself out of the bed, closing his windows before deciding to get a shower and wash off the stale feeling of travel that still clung to him.

Tom let his mind drift as the hot water poured over his pale body. He ran his long, slender fingers through his dark red curls, working in the shampoo and wondering who that girl from earlier was and where she came from.

Tom emerged from the shower 10 minutes later, mind still buzzing about what had happened this afternoon. Maybe she was new to the neighborhood? He had never seen her before today, and he had been gone for some time, so it made sense. But how did she get up on his roof? He knows she didn't go through his house, and the only other way was to go through his neighbors' house and make the short jump from their roof to his.

Tom stopped suddenly. His neighbors! He completely forgot to ring them and tell them he was home! Tom dried his hair and put on jeans and a t-shirt before rifling through his bags for their souvenirs. After locating them, he grabbed his phone, slipped on his shoes, and made the brief walk next door.

Tom pressed the doorbell, casually slipping his free hand in his pocket. He felt bad about calling on the older couple this late, but he told them when he left when to expect him back and he knew they would worry if he didn't tell them. Especially Gertrude. She watched too many of those damn crime shows for her own good.

The door opened and Tom almost did a double take. Standing in the doorway was the girl from his roof this afternoon! Tom ran his hand through his curls nervously and cleared his throat.

"Sorry, but, ah, are the Bernfields at home?" he stammered. She was one of the last people he expected to open his neighbors' door and he was a bit taken aback.

She angled her head to the side, puzzled. "No. They haven't lived here for… I think it's been close to a month and a half now? Maybe two?"

Tom returned her confused look. Why hadn't his sister told him his neighbors had moved out? Surely that was something she would have noticed.

"Oh. I see. Well, alright then. Sorry to have bothered you." As she was closing the door, though, Tom remembered, "By the way, how's your cat?"

It was her turn to be taken aback. "How did you know I have a cat?"

Tom chuckled and pointed next door. "I saw you on my back roof this afternoon. I didn't want to say anything, though. Didn't want to scare you and have you fall off or something."

She let out a guilty giggle, visibly relaxing. Tom smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Tom, by the way."

"Becca," she beamed back, shaking his hand. "Come on inside and we'll talk for a bit."

"Are you sure? It's a bit late and I don't want to intrude."

"It's fine. I wasn't going to bed any time soon anyway," Becca said nonchalantly. She stepped aside and opened the door wider, allowing Tom to step through. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be out in the living room in a sec."

He was perplexed at first, because it seemed like the house hadn't changed at all. All the Bernfields' furniture was still there, exactly the way it had been the last time he was there. What was going on? Tom slipped his shoes off, remembering the rule the older couple had for keeping their prized cherry flooring up to scratch.

"Can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea, wine?" Becca called from the kitchen. Tom made his way down the hallway to the living room, noticing that nothing at all had changed about the house.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you."

"What kind would you like?" He could hear her getting cups out and putting the kettle on while she rattled off a list of about 20 different teas. Tom chuckled and set the bags with the souvenirs down on the coffee table.

"Just Earl Grey is fine, thanks."

A few moments later, Becca came out carrying a mug of tea for Tom and a rather full glass of red wine for herself. She made herself comfortable on the opposite end of the sofa as he cautiously sipped from his steaming mug.

"So, what's your story?"

"Sorry?" Tom asked, as she sipped her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. 'Shouldn't _I_ be asking _you_ this question?' he thought.

"How come you've been away for so long?"

"Oh, I've been in Canada for the past three months for study abroad."

Becca cocked her head to the side a little and gave him a skeptical look. "Wait, you're a student?"

Tom smiled and chuckled a little, "No, um, I'm actually a professor at Cambridge. I teach French and French Literature."

"Ew, Cambridge," Becca wrinkled her nose teasingly.

"What's wrong with Cambridge?" Tom laughed.

"I graduated from Oxford," Becca declared, puffing up her chest proudly.

"Oh," Tom rolled his eyes.

"Don't 'Oh,' me! I received an excellent education!"

"I don't doubt that, but," Tom wrinkled his nose, teasing her right back. "Ew, Oxford."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Tom asked, "When did you graduate. Forgive me, but you don't look that old."

Becca smirked, "Last year. I was a Classics major."

"Kudos to you. I couldn't stand the subject when I was at uni."

"Fair enough. I hated French when I took it."

"But you decided to go for a classics major, where you had to learn Latin," Tom arched a brow.

Becca shrugged. "I'm not crazy about Latin, either. Greek's more my speed."

The subject continued on to how French, Latin, and Greek worked. What they liked about the languages, what drove them crazy, how it was a shame no one spoke Latin anymore. Tom found himself incredibly relaxed. It was so easy to talk with Becca.

"Speaking of accents," Tom said, placing his now empty mug down on the coffee table, "I can't help but notice yours. It's quite peculiar. It's a strange mix between American and Southern. How did you get it?"

Becca grimaced and took a long drink from her now half empty wine glass. "I was born in England and lived in London until I was, like, 5. Then my parents decided to drag me to New York. I don't really remember a lot about it, but I remember getting teased a lot for my accent when I started school, so I tried really hard to get rid of it. Obviously, though, it decided to stick around."

Tom shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, trying to steer to the topic to something that obviously didn't bother her so much. "So what made you decide to come back? There's plenty of good schools in New York."

Becca smiled wryly. "We may be well off, but we're not that well off. School's so incredibly expensive in the States. It's ridiculous. Remember a few years back when students here were bitching about having their tuition raised? Like, they were having sit-ins and protests and everything."

Tom furrowed his brow. "I remember, but I wouldn't call it 'bitching,' per say. It was a very serious issue. A lot of people couldn't afford college anymore because of it."

Becca rolled her eyes. "$40,000."

"What?"

"That's how much it costs to go to the best school in the US for a year, and that's just the tuition. That's not even including room and board, a meal plan –"

"Okay, I get it," Tom held up his hand, stopping her. "From an American standpoint, yes, I can see how you could find it ridiculous, but for someone who's never had to pay that much for their education, it's quite frustrating."

They continued to argue back and forth on the topic, the subject eventually bleeding into politics, which Tom deeply regretted. For once, Tom wasn't sure what he was talking about, since he had been away for so long, and her arguments tore into him. She clearly knew what she was talking about and he couldn't help but wonder if she had ever been on a debate team.

"Getting back to the original topic, though," Becca said after a short yet fervent rant on why people shouldn't care about Angelina Jolie's double mastectomy. "I left for three reasons. Mum, Pappy, and Nana."

Tom gave her an inquisitive look, and she continued, "My mum and my grandparents don't have the best relationship. She's… kind of selfish, to put it mildly. She'd only let me talk with them during Christmas and birthdays and junk, but when I got older and got my own phone and laptop, I started talking to them more. And I just couldn't put up with her anymore. So my grands set me up in a little apartment until I could stand on my own. I got a job and started going to uni on a partial scholarship. Then when I graduated, I found out my mum had paid off everything I owed as a graduation present, even though I hadn't talked to her in 5 years. I was pissed, but it's not like I could have done anything about it."

"Oh! You're the Bernfields' granddaughter!" Tom said, realization hitting him. "They've mentioned you before, but I've never seen any pictures or anything. I suppose I know why now. They always called you Rebecca, though."

Becca just stared at him for a moment. "…Dude, really?"

Tom felt his face flush with embarrassment. Becca, Rebecca. He felt like a tit.

"So, ah, where are your grandparents?"

"They retired to France. I guess they heard you talk so much about it, they wanted to check it out for themselves. They pay me to stay here and keep the house nice, though. They've even deeded it to me in their wills."

Something soft and fluffy brush against his foot. He looked down and saw the orange cat from earlier staring up at him, its tail swishing.

"And here's the little trouble maker," Tom chuckled as Becca picked the cat up.

"Yeah, Chester's a little brat, but I love him to bits."

"How did he get out, anyway?"

"I was doing some spring cleaning, and he slipped out when I was cleaning the upstairs windows," she admitted bashfully as the cat slipped out of her arms and slinked away.

Becca glanced at the clock and set down her wine glass, squaring Tom up. "Look at me," she said gently.

"What?" Tom wasn't sure if she was tipsy or if she was going to play some sort of weird trick on him.

"Look at me, in the eyes, for a good four minutes. Don't talk. Just look."

"Okay," Tom said, not really sure where this was going.

They stared, his blue eyes gazing into her grey ones. At first, Tom almost burst into giggles at the absolute absurdity of all this. Then he really started to look, and the more he looked, the more he felt. Time dragged on, and he was lost to her. His comfort and casualness melted away and he started feeling giddy, anxious, and uneasy. Every time he tried to avert his gaze, she would bring him back with hers, but they never moved any closer to one another, and her expression remained neutral the entire time.

He thought he was going to lose it when she smiled and exclaimed, "Okay, time's up! How do you feel?"

"S-sorry?" Tom asked, dazed. How could she expect him to go back to just normal, casual conversation after… whatever that was?

"This psychologist in New York has been doing experiments on strangers," she explained nonchalantly, picking her glass back up. "He would have them talk and share personal things for an hour and a half and then stare into each other's eyes for four minutes. We've been talking for an hour and a half, and I wanted to see if I would have the same results he did. So, how do you feel?"

Tom shifted, adjusting the collar of his shirt nervously. "What, uh, what were his results exactly?"

"A lot of the couples admitted to feeling deeply attracted to one another afterward," she shrugged, finishing her glass. For a moment, Tom's heart stopped in his throat.

"So, what about you? You feel anything?" she asked, glancing up at him.

Tom licked his lips and smiled sheepishly before hesitantly answering, "Uh, no, not really."

She smiled gently. "Me neither."

**Author's Note:**

> This was a short story I wrote for a creative writing class last semester (Fall 2013), and I finally decided to post it publicly. Here is where I heard about the study mentioned in the story: http://www.bbc.co.uk/science/hottopics/love/flirting.shtml


End file.
